Don't Dare Call Them Zombies : Books 1-4 (13 page)

Upon entering the social hall, I immediately noticed the smell of delicious, home cooked food. Looking around, the scene reminded me of the old fashioned, church pot-luck dinners I attended as a young child – except the r
oom was a bit dimmer. But the fact they had electricity for any lighting at all seemed like a small miracle.

As soon as we entered number of people came up and welcomed us. They ushered us to a series of tables that were covered with dishes and bowls of fo
od. I picked up a Styrofoam plate, napkin, and a set of plastic utensils; my plate was soon filled with portions of casseroles, salads and meat.

Only a moment or two later, after being handed a large glass of sweetened iced tea, a younger couple invited us
to sit and eat with them. They introduced themselves as Roy and Kay Bridges. We sat down, and I was about to ask questions about what was going on, but I was interrupted before I could ask the first one.

“Just eat and enjoy your meal,” Roy stated. “There
will be plenty of time to talk after dinner. I'm sure you two are hungry.”

I glanced at Jennifer, and noticed that
she’d already started eagerly on her plate of food. It didn’t take me long to start devouring mine as well. The sliced ham, dressing and gravy, green beans, sweet potato casserole, and macaroni and cheese were delicious. What made the meal seem even better was the environment. Conversation filled the room, but there was no sense of danger or an immediate threat. The freaks may be outside, but they were not in here.

Children were playing in one corner of the room, and a group of people were playing board games at another table.

Amazingly, I noticed I was letting my guard down. For a brief moment, it was like the meteor shower had never happened, the freaks had never destroyed civilization, and things were like they had always been.

Before I could finish my plate of food, Mr. Roy's wife, Kay, had brought Jennifer a
nd me a plate of dessert. I stood up to get a re-fill of sweetened iced tea, but Kay motioned for me to sit down. She walked back to the kitchen and brought back a pitcher and re-filled our glasses. After finishing off some pecan pie and walnut brownies with Jennifer, I had to speak to Mr. Roy.

“This is amazing. Thank you so much,” I said.

“It's no problem,” Roy responded. “You are guests here.”

“You two have been on the road for a while, haven't you?” Kay asked.

I responded by sharing with them what we had been through over the past few days, and explained how we were trying to get to the relocation center in Dublin to find our family members. I then asked them about the church. From their responses, it seemed like this area had been spared the worst of the apocalypse, at least so far.

Roy and Kay explained that the church had been preparing for an emergency since the 9/11 terrorist attack took place in 2001. They had stored food, bought generators, installed solar panels, and worked with church members on b
eing prepared. One of the members was the owner of the closest grocery store. When the outbreak started he donated the entire contents of his store to the church, to be used for the benefit of the congregation. According to Kay, the cache of supplies wouldn’t last forever, but there was plenty of food so far.

According to Kay and Roy, the church disaster preparedness plan had worked almost perfectly. Also, since the church membership included a significant number of hunters and gun owners, the congregation
had the means to defend itself from the “dead”.

“The zombies are not getting in here,” Roy's little daughter Lucy blurted out, interrupting our conversation. “My uncle will shoot them in the head!”

“That's enough Lucy,” Kay told her. She went silent, but smiled at Jennifer and me.

I asked them about the structure of the church, and who was in charge. They explained how there was a board of Deacons who were under the leadership of the associate pastor, Reverend Thomas McMann. Kay pointed him out to us; he w
as sitting at a table on the other side of the room. According to Kay, Thomas McMann reported to the senior pastor, Reverend Sikes.

“Is Reverend Sikes in the room?” I asked.

Kay and Roy looked at each other.

“He has been in his office most of the time sinc
e all this started.” Roy answered. “They say he’s praying and fasting.”

“They say
he’s looking for answers and direction from God,” Kay added.

“I think we could all use some answers about now,” I said.

“By the way, do you know of anyone who might be able to help me repair a tire on my van?” I asked.

“Robert, Robert Gardner might be able to help you with that,” Roy said. “
He’s a mechanic; actually, his shop is just down the road.”

“Could you introduce us to him?” I asked.

“He’s on patrol right now. It will be a few hours until he comes back in,” he said.

The lady in the flowered dress then tapped me on the shoulder from behind.

“Hello. Sir, I don't think I introduced myself to you earlier. My name is Patricia Tall. It is very nice to meet you and Jennifer. I'm so glad that you’re able to join us for dinner,” she said.

“Thank you so very much for inviting us,” I responded.

“If you’re spending the night with us we will need to talk about sleeping arrangements,” she said in a formal tone.

“I'm not sure how
long we will be staying. We’re trying to get to Dublin to the relocation center,” I responded. “We both may have family there.”

“Well, I would advise against leaving immediately; please consider staying at least until the morning.
They
are more active at night, you know,” she urged.

Memories of the horrors of the previous days started to flood my mind. She was right about
 them
. Due to their permanently dilated eyes, they could see much better at night than during the daytime. Even if we were able to get our tire repaired tonight, it would be safer to leave in the morning.

Jennifer looked at me with a serious expression on her face. Just as if
she’d been telepathically shouting it to me, I knew she was urging me to take Patricia up on her offer.

“
You’re right. We should spend the night,” I said.

“Good,” she responded. “You look like you could use a night’s rest.”

She then started reviewing the writing on a notebook she carried with her. It was obviously a listing of who was staying where in the church. She once again began to speak

“The simple fact of the matter is even though this is a large building, with over two hundred people it can be a challenge to find appropriate sleeping accommodations for everyone. Most of our private rooms are
occupied by married couples with children, so we will need to ask the two of you to sleep in one of the common areas. Although if you want to sleep in adjacent cots that is fine, but we ask for the sake of moral decency that you do not actually sleep together in the same cot,” she explained.

“That is fine,” Jennifer told her. “As long as you do not separate us. We have gone through too much together to let that happen.”

“I would never suggest separating the two of you, dear,” she stated while putting her hand on Jennifer's shoulder. “We have morals, but we’re not cold hearted.”

“Thank you,” I said as I turned back around.

Suddenly, I felt Jennifer's hand on my arm. She was gripping it tightly.

I turned and looked at her. Her eyes
peered into mine as she said one word.

“Never.”

For a moment, my mind flashed back several years to when I first befriended Jennifer at the barbershop. I soon developed feelings for her, and tried my best to start a relationship with her. I went out of my way to try and win her heart, but she insisted that we should just stay friends. Nothing I did for her back then seemed to be enough to convince her to give me a chance to be anything more than a best buddy or guy pal.

 
Now, it seemed that she was allowing herself to grow closer to me. However, I realized most, or maybe all, of this closeness was probably artificial, due to both of us being thrown into a hellish situation together which required us both to depend on each other for survival.

“
We’re staying together, not matter what,” I told her in a quiet voice before looking back at our gracious host.

Patricia explained where the common areas were located and then politely excused
herself.

“Last call for dinner,” a voice boomed over the church intercom. “Me
altime over in ten minutes.”

Immediately after the announcement was made, Kay and her children walked towards to kitchen. A number of other men and women did the same.

“Those with kitchen duty tonight will be cleaning up now,” Roy said. “Do you mind if I introduce you to a few more members of our church family?”

“Sure,” I said.

Over the next hour, with Roy at our side, we met several other church members. We repeated our story to those who asked, and everyone seemed friendly and sincere. It seemed that the church was composed of a very tight knit group of generally friendly people. Jennifer and I eventually decided to step outside and wait for Robert, the mechanic, to come back from patrol.

We watched as men, some in golf carts and others on foot, patrolled
the field surrounding the church. Most of them carried rifles, and a few carried bows. Every so often a few of the patrols would also make a sweep of the road in front of the church. Only once as we waited for Robert did we hear a gunshot. A patrol at the gate told us that seeing a large group of freaks like those that were shot just before we arrived was the exception, and not the rule.

Night had now fallen, but there was just enough light for me to make out our surroundings. In addition to the fenced per
imeter where we stood just outside of the social hall, another fenced off area was setup on one side of the Sunday School build – not too far from where our van was parked. A parsonage, apparently the pastor’s home, was located on the other side of the church. Far behind the buildings on the property a wooded area existed. On either side of the church were open fields.

I suddenly realized that we had left the dog in our van.

“I need to go check on the dog,” I told Jennifer.

“Shoot! I forgot all about him!”
she exclaimed.

“I'm sure
he’s fine,” I said. “I just need to ask the guard at the gate if I can go to the van and check on him.”

“Well, I'm going with you,” she responded.

“I actually think it might be better if I just go by myself to check on him,” I said. “They might take it better if just one of us asks to go out there.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped closer to me before exclaiming, “Remember what you promised.
We’re staying together, not matter what. I'm going with you.”

I was not going to argue with her.

We approached the gate and I noticed a different person was stationed there. The old man in the golf cart had been replaced with a thin framed woman with dark hair. Instead of a rifle, she carried a machete in a sheath fastened to her waist.

Jennifer approached the fence to get her attention, but the dark haired lady spoke before she could say anything.

“What do you need?”

Her black jeans and leather jacket made me wonder if the motorcycle I had seen ear
lier in the parking lot belonged to her.

“We just arrived a couple hours ago and we have a dog in our vehicle over there. Could you please open the gate so we can go check on him?” she asked.

“Look,” the woman said firmly. “I know you two are new, but the rule is that no one but patrols go in and out of these gates at night.”

“Can you please make an exception for us?” Jennifer pleaded. “We only need five minutes or so and we will be right back.”

“I'm not allowed to make exceptions,” she responded.

A voice t
hen shot out from behind us.

“Just get a patrol to escort them, Meredith,” the voice said. “Cut them some slack. Stop being a hard butt.”

I turned around and saw a man taking a puff of a cigarette. He looked very weary as he came up to the fence and continued to scold the guard. A couple moments later the guard seemed to have conceded the argument.

The man turned around and looked at us. He took another puff of his cigarette.

“You can go get your critter, but you’ll have to tie it up around here somewhere. It will be safe on this side of the fence,” he told us.

“Thank you very much.” I was very relieved.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” he asked.

“No, I left my revolver in the van. I didn't know if I could bring it inside,” I said.

“Well, no one goes outside without a weapon,” he said. Before I could say a word, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his firearm, and pointed the butt end of a small semi-automatic pistol at me.

“Take this with you when you go out there, but you better damn well get it bac
k to me. Just get your dog, get your gun, and get back here. But when you get back and go inside don't flash your piece around the holy rollers,” he said.